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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27723530">Visitor</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightimedreamer/pseuds/nightimedreamer'>nightimedreamer</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Carry on Countdown 2020 [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst and Feels, Baz yearns a lot, Established Relationship, Late Night Conversations, M/M, Nightmares, POV Change, Phone Calls, Post-Book 1: Carry On, Songfic, Welcome to yearningtown everyone, soft angst</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 17:02:42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,984</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27723530</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightimedreamer/pseuds/nightimedreamer</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>I do that sometimes, when I'm alone. Just to pretend, even though I know he won't be there. I close my eyes and reach out for him all night, and find nothing there.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>When Simon has nightmares and Baz isn't there to comfort him, distance is a physical thing. <br/>However, when they're lying side by side, the distance between them is something else entirely, but it's there nonetheless.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Carry on Countdown 2020 [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2027081</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>59</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Carry On Countdown 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Visitor</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hi everyone, I'm back today for the second day of COC: Distance!<br/>This is a songfic inspired by "Visitor", a song by Of Monsters and Men. It's set between Carry on and Wayward Son, a bit angsty, and also part of a series: if you read my fic Little Talks, this can be considered a sequel of sorts, as it is Baz's POV. You don't need to have read that to understand this one, though, as the relevant parts of that fic also feature here.<br/>(But if you want to give Simon's POV a go, I'd be really happy!)<br/>Enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Baz </b>
</p><p> </p><p>I wake up to my phone ringing right under my ear. </p><p>The sound is so overwhelming to my vampire hearing that, still in my sleepy haze, I don't even recognise the ringtone. </p><p>It rings just once before the sound is cut off; before I can even slip my hand under my pillow to see who it is. When my phone blinks to life, the too-bright screen hurting my eyes, I've already got a missed call. </p><p>I rub my eyes, letting them adjust to the brightness before looking again. </p><p><em> Simon, </em> says the screen. Simon tried to call me. </p><p>I call him back immediately. </p><p>It rings, and rings, but still he doesn't pick up. I wait a few seconds before trying again. </p><p>This time, he picks up after the first ring. </p><p>"Snow?" I say, sleep and worry clogging up my throat. There's shuffling on the other end. I hold my breath. </p><p><em> "Hey, so, uhhh..." </em> He answers, finally, and I flop back down onto my pillow, relieved. <em> "Sorry, did I wake you up?" </em> </p><p>"Of course you didn't, Snow. It's three in the morning; why would I be asleep?" It's meant to be a joke, mostly; but I'm still half asleep and my heart was pounding just now, so it comes out snarkier than intended. </p><p><em> "Okay, got it, I'm sorry." </em>There's something wrong with his voice, but I have no time to dwell on it before he hangs up. </p><p>I stare at my phone, processing what just happened. Fuck. I punch myself internally and type his number again. </p><p>"Can you please stop doing that?" I say, softly, once he picks up. "I'm sorry, Simon. I shouldn't have said that. What happened?" </p><p><em> "Uh, nothing," </em> He's lying. I know he's lying because he's sniffling and his voice sounds… wobbly. <em> "I just... This is stupid, Baz. I know it is. I didn't want to wake you because of it. I just..." </em></p><p>"You just...? Use your words, Snow." </p><p>He breathes deeply, and I allow myself to do the same. <em> At least he's not in immediate danger. </em>  </p><p>
  <em> "I had a nightmare, okay? That's all. It's not an emergency." </em>
</p><p>That gives me pause. I mean, it's not unusual for us<em>—both </em> of us—to wake up startled by night terrors. I remember those nights I'd wake up with my mouth full of teeth and shadows biting my ankles. The nights Simon would lock himself up in the en suite, shaking and sweaty, after waking up with strangled screams. </p><p>We never comforted each other when that happened, which hurt. For us both. And now… </p><p>Well, I suppose I could comfort him. If I were there… </p><p>
  <em> This will have to do. </em>
</p><p>"What about?" I ask, slowly, trying to sound reassuring. (I'm not sure it's working.) </p><p><em> "I... don't remember exactly," </em> Simon says. <em> "There was screaming. Blood. I think you were there, actually." </em></p><p>"Me?" I frown, though he can't see it. "What happened to me?" </p><p><em> "I can't remember." </em> He answers too quickly.</p><p>"Snow, in case I died, I need to know if you wept over my corpse." I expect him to laugh, but instead he huffs. </p><p><em> "I literally woke up having a panic attack, Baz. What do you think?" </em>   My heart sinks. Why, <em> why </em> am I such an arsehole? <em> "But nothing happened to you, really. I don't think so." </em></p><p>I hum. Simon hums back. I rake a hand through my hair, frustrated, wishing I could do this to <em> him. </em> Tangle my fingers in his abundant curls (more abundant now than ever); hold him and say all the right things to help him calm down. </p><p>"What, then?" I ask, trying to figure out how to make this better. He doesn't answer for a while. "Snow, what are you doing?" </p><p><em> "I'm just thinking." </em> </p><p>I can't help but snort. "Unbelievable. You don't think." </p><p>
  <em> "I know, but I am now."   </em>
</p><p>"Okay, right. So, what was I doing there, if this wasn't the fun kind of dream?" </p><p>
  <em> "I—we... I think we were just talking, actually. But like, not really talking. It was more like what we did at Watford."  </em>
</p><p>"You mean all the fighting?" I ask, cautiously. </p><p><em> "Uh, sort of?" </em> </p><p>"...Did I say something, Snow?"  </p><p>There's a telltale pause before he answers. <em> "No. Why?" </em> </p><p>"...Simon."  </p><p><em> "I can't remember." </em> His voice cracks, so slightly I probably wouldn't notice without my enhanced hearing. </p><p>"Simon, I—" I sigh. I don't know what to say. How to make this right. </p><p>On the other end, his breath hitches. <em> "It's okay, Baz. It's nothing."  </em></p><p>"Clearly it's something, Snow." </p><p><em> "It was just…" </em> He pauses again, and I listen for his breath. (Crowley, is he crying?) <em> "It was like we were fighting, okay? That's all. You said some rude things, and that's it. It wasn't even the worst part," </em>Snow blurts after a minute, and I feel my heart sinking straight into my stomach. </p><p>Because I know exactly what he means. I don't know what I thought—that years of taunting and insults and <em> hurt </em> would vanish after a few good snogs? That he'd forgive and forget my cruelty overnight like it never affected him? </p><p>I didn't mean half the things I told him, but I <em> did </em> say them. Multiple times. </p><p>And I'm just now realising that I've never even <em> apologised </em> to him. </p><p>"Simon, I'm… sorry. You should know that I didn't mean any of those things." I say, and then immediately flinch. <em> How could he? </em> When did I stop to assure him that none of that was true<em>—isn't true? </em> Maybe I thought… well, that being in love with him, being his boyfriend, holding his hand and kissing him… I thought that'd do the trick.</p><p>(Clearly, it wasn't enough.)  </p><p><em> "Oh." </em>It's all he says. </p><p>I breathe slowly, trying to keep my voice light and steady. "Whatever. I'm a perfect git, remember? You shouldn't be listening to me."  </p><p><em> "Okay," </em> He says, letting out a deep breath. <em> "So, uhm. That was all. Sorry for waking you up." </em></p><p>"It's fine," I say, getting up and heading towards my wardrobe. "It's almost time I get up anyway. You beat my alarm by only ten minutes." </p><p>
  <em> "What? Why?"  </em>
</p><p>"I was planning on making it a surprise and waking you up with kisses but…" I mumble slowly, letting myself trail off. "I decided to come back a day early. My train departs in forty minutes."  </p><p><em> "Ah," </em> he sounds surprised and… hopeful. I can almost hear a smile in his voice, and it makes my heart swell. <em> "So you're… cool. Yeah, cool, Baz."  </em></p><p>"Yeah," I agree, nodding out of habit. <em> I'm going home. </em> "Anyway, I should get going. I was planning on dropping by your flat, but I guess it's better if I go to mine first." </p><p><em> "Uh," </em> he sounds a bit disappointed, but he continues before I can say anything else. <em> "I mean, yeah, okay. Alright. That makes sense." </em> </p><p>"... Yeah," I say again, dumbly. "Okay, Snow?" </p><p>
  <em> "Fine! Yeah, of course. So, uh. See you in a bit?"   </em>
</p><p>"Right," I say, sighing. "You should try to get some more sleep, love. I'll be there just as you wake up." </p><p>He's silent for a moment, and I wonder if it was too much. Calling him <em> love. </em> </p><p>But then, I hear a quiet grunt, and his voice comes in a quick, high pitched <em> "see you." </em> </p><p>Then he hangs up. </p><p>I stare at my phone for another moment before changing out of my pyjamas and getting ready to leave.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>*** </b>
</p><p> </p><p>The train stops at London Paddington exactly at six o'clock. </p><p>I kept glancing at my watch nervously on the train, but now, finally, I'm <em> home. </em> (I also kept checking my phone, just in case Snow decided to call me again.) (He didn't). </p><p>I take a cab to my flat first. I can't wait to see Simon, which probably makes me a disgusting sap, because we were apart for less than a week. Still, I missed him. (I guess I was already missing him a bit, before.) But I need to take a shower, and I also need to unpack my things. Then, I'll have him all to myself, <em> all day.  </em></p><p>(Yes, <em> this </em> is my plot: coming back early so that we'll have the flat to ourselves for a few days.) </p><p>I keep tapping nervously on my suitcase all the way to my flat. I'm not usually like this: anxious, fidgety. Even my father noticed it on our way to the train station. </p><p>I guess it's a side effect from my conversation with Snow this morning, on the phone. It was startling at first, because we don't usually do that; our conversations involve more of little touches and thousand-yard stares and hair pulling and frustrated grunts than words. Talking with him like that felt… distant.</p><p>I open the door to my flat—which used to be Fiona's flat—and take a deep breath. Doing it outside didn't grant me much comfort, like I imagined London's morning air would. It doesn't here, either. </p><p>(It was <em> Fiona's </em> flat—I can still smell a hint of cigarette smoke on everything.) </p><p>I go straight to my room, unpack my things, then take a shower. I usually take longer at this, but not today—I'm too eager to go to Simon's. </p><p>Except that… well, I <em> am. </em> This is it, of course; the feeling tugging at my gut is just anticipation. </p><p>I get dressed, then sit at the edge of my bed while brushing my hair. I feel my eyelids and limbs heavy; the lack of sleep is catching up with me.  I glance at my phone occasionally, expecting… what? There's no reason he'd call me again. I told him I'd go to his flat, and I'm ready, so… </p><p>But I can't get myself to move. I can't shake this feeling that there's something missing, something <em> off. </em> </p><p>I always feel a bit like this after spending some days with my parents. Not that I don't love them—and I miss my siblings too much to even consider not visiting—it's just that, well… </p><p>It's tiring. </p><p>Whenever I go to Oxford—and even when I used to go to Hampshire—it never feels quite like home. I'm aware that I'm just a visitor there. And as much as I'm used to hiding my vampirism, it's been getting more and more difficult lately. </p><p>We don't talk about it; they never even acknowledge it. When I go out late at night to hunt, way after the children are tucked into bed, my father doesn't bat an eye. One time, Daphne offered me a coat and a lantern when I was going out, and that was it. </p><p>The same goes for my queerness, I think. I still haven't talked to Father about my relationship with Simon—I mean, he knows about it. It's not like we've been subtle or keeping it a secret. This is just yet another aspect of me he chooses to ignore. </p><p>Usually, it doesn't take long for the feeling to go away; but I still can't shake it off. </p><p>Whatever. I'm used to this—the only place I've ever felt truly at home was at the top of a tower, across the room from Simon Snow. It's not like we can go back there. </p><p>(And it's not like I'd want that. What we have now is much better.) (Even if Simon feels a bit distant, sometimes. We both still have a lot to work through.) </p><p>I sigh, gathering my things. I've got some clothes at Simon's flat, and even a toothbrush, so it'll be fine. Even though I don't stay over frequently, I'm around almost all the time. </p><p>It takes less than ten minutes to get there; I could even go walking, but I'm too tired. </p><p>All the time, I keep waiting for the feeling of familiarity, of <em> home </em> to settle in. I'm right outside his door, and <em> Simon </em> is my home, isn't he? </p><p>(Even if sometimes it feels like I'm just a visitor here, too. Like he's been closing in on himself and leaving me outside.) (I <em> know </em> why. I know it's not my fault, nor his—I just need to give him time. Time and space to sort it out.) </p><p>So I just stand there, in the hallway, debating if I should knock on the door and risk waking him up or just let myself in with the pair of keys I own. </p><p>I end up just entering. Simon usually doesn't mind. </p><p>I find him in the kitchen, asleep at the table beside a cold cup of tea. I sit down and just look at him for a moment. </p><p>He's snoring lightly, his head resting between his arms on the table. I brush a curl off his forehead, revealing his face to the warm sunlight creeping through the window, and <em> oh. </em> There you are. </p><p>Sometimes, during moments like this, I get the quickest reminder that my heart still beats. </p><p>I thread my fingers through his hair, just like I wanted to this morning. He sighs and shifts, but doesn't seem to wake up just yet. </p><p>I feel something squeezing inside my chest, making my heart ache, making me weak. </p><p>But I'm always weak when it comes to him, aren't I? </p><p>I lean forward, kissing his temple. His breath hitches, and this time, when I pull back, he blinks at me. </p><p>A tentative smile spreads over his face. "Hey." </p><p>"Hello," I say, taking his hand in mine. (His face is marked and there's a bit of drool on his cheek.) (He's adorable.) </p><p>"I, uh, I was waiting for you," Simon says, rubbing his eyes and wiping his face. "I made us tea." </p><p>"I noticed," I chuckle. "It's a bit cold now, though." </p><p>He nods, still a bit sleepy, then takes his cup. He sips experimentally, frowning at me. "But it's still drinkable." </p><p>"Of course it is." I get up, not letting go of his hand. "But we can drink tea later. Let's go to bed now." </p><p>I notice the way his eyes widen a bit at that, but he nods. We leave the cups and the kettle on the table. </p><p>"How was your… you know, with your family," he asks, handing me my pyjamas. (He's still in his; even the shirt, though he usually sleeps without one.) </p><p>We lay down next to each other, and the closed blinds help us ignore the rising sun. Then, we're just there. </p><p><em> Right next to each other, </em> I think, as Simon curls up against my side. So close. I missed his warmth. </p><p>We look at each other. His eyes are bigger and bluer than I remembered, if that's possible. </p><p>"Hey," he says again. His foot brushes my calf, and I hook my leg around his. I can't see his tail, but I know it's thrashing behind him. (I know by the look he's giving me. I know him.) </p><p>"Hey there," I answer, whispering. It feels adequate. "Do you want to talk?" </p><p>He shakes his head, pressing his face into the pillow. "M'gonna feel better later. Just need to sleep." </p><p>"Okay," I breathe. "Me too. I'm knackered." </p><p>He nods again, then closes his eyes. I guess this is it, then. </p><p>(I'm itching to reach out and touch him. Kiss his face again. But I know he had a difficult night, and I could barely comfort him, so I decide it's better to let him rest.) </p><p>I curl towards him, our elbows almost touching. He's the first and the last thing I see when I blink. He's right here. </p><p>It takes me a while to fall asleep, though—that happens sometimes when I'm too tired—so I just lay there, feeling Snow's breath and listening to his heart beat. </p><p>After some time, he starts shifting. (He’s used to sleeping on his belly.) He moves away from me; just some inches, but I miss his warmth instantly.</p><p>I try to shift closer to him, but he mumbles something and turns around, facing away from me. His folded wings are like a barrier between us. </p><p>I feel a pang in my chest. </p><p><em> It's okay, it's okay, it's okay </em>. </p><p>We're okay. </p><p>I want to reach out and splay my hand on the space between his wings. To feel his heartbeat on my skin. </p><p>I do that sometimes, when I'm alone. Just to pretend, even though I know he won't be there. I close my eyes and reach out for him all night, and find nothing there. </p><p>I guess I'm afraid to do it now. To try and touch and find only emptiness once again. To discover the boy in this bed is only a ghost of what he used to be. (Or, even worse, a <em> literal </em> ghost.) </p><p>He haunts me in a way no wraiths can, nor any other supernatural creatures. Simon is always in my dreams; smiling and laughing and lively. With me. Like he used to be.</p><p>(When I see him the morning after these dreams, it becomes strikingly evident how he's shrinking into himself.) </p><p>I don't know how to help him. Or to bring him back. I know he's not broken, not something to be fixed, but… I don't know how to show him that. </p><p>So I lie in the dark, staring up at the ceiling and pretending hope isn't slipping through my fingers. </p><p>I glance at him again. He felt distant, last night, but I thought it was justified. After all, we <em>were</em> far away from each other, physically. Now, though… </p><p>He's right here, but it feels like there are just as many miles between us. </p><p>I sigh, closing my eyes and turning away. I can still feel his warmth, and the bed dips towards him a bit, so it's easy to pretend we're closer, if I concentrate. </p><p>(He's not a ghost. He's still more alive than I can ever hope to be, and I'm still hopelessly in love with him.) (Even if he was, as long as he'd let me be close, I wouldn't mind.) </p><p>I'm vaguely aware of something wrapping around my leg just before I fall asleep.</p><p>
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  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I hope this didn't hurt too much 💞<br/>special thanks to the lovely <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/OtherWorldsIveLivedIn">OtherWorldsIveLivedIn</a> for beta reading!<br/>Again, if you liked this, please consider reading Little Talks!<br/>(Also, please consider listening to both songs.)<br/>You can always find me on Tumblr at <a href="https://nightimedreamersworld.tumblr.com/">nightimedreamersworld</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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